


even in the dark (i saw you were the only one)

by Bellamyed



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dad!Bellamy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Slow Build, post 2x16
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellamyed/pseuds/Bellamyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke returns to Camp Jaha after being gone for a little over a year. Things are different; they've built cabins, a sickbay, and Raven's constructed an impressive filtration system that allows them to have indoor plumbing. One thing she doesn't expect, though, is Bellamy being a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Daughter of Sea and Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Mumford & Sons' "Hot Gates"
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter fic, so please don't be too hard on me. This idea has been rolling around in my head since 2x16 aired, and I finally decided that I needed to sit down and write it. It will switch from Bellamy and Clarke's POV throughout the story. There will be eight chapters (including the prologue), and smut will happen in the later chapters, so please stick around! All comments and reviews are obviously welcome. 
> 
> Also, come find me on [tumblr](http://octaviablake.co) :)

_**BELLAMY**_   --

His daughter is born on a rainy, humid night in mid-spring, with sea and sky blood in her veins. It’s quiet apart from the wailing that occurs when new life is pulled from the solace of its mother’s womb and into the world, and Bellamy’s heart won’t stop pounding. The feeling that has latched onto his heart and stomach is akin to wonder; this screaming, fidgeting, nameless human is _his_ —his to keep, his to protect, his to love. She’s made of him, with dark freckles spotting her cheeks and nose, and honey-brown squinting eyes that belong to her mother. With a fit of messy, dark brown curls atop her head, she is undeniably a Blake, and he is overwhelmed with a sense of euphoria just looking at her. They take her from his sight immediately, offering quiet reassurance that she needs to be cleaned and checked for anomalies, and he desperately wants to yell for them to give her back, she’s perfect as she is.  
  
The other healers surround his wife, whose skin has turned pallor and grey. Blood drenches the sheepskin blanket beneath her and Bellamy can’t stop staring at it, his mind frantic. One of the healers yells for him to assist, to grab a rag to stop the bleeding, and Bellamy complies quickly. His hands are soaked in her blood within moments, and he knows what’s coming. The heart beating against his ribcage tells him that he’s losing her, the mother of his newborn child, that the life is draining out of her with every spilled drop. When the healers begin to slow their movements, he yells for them to continue. English is not spoken commonly near the sea, only the High Council is taught basic commands and phrases, but his words are not lost on them. His face is twisted with agony as he gathers together more clean rags, and when they start to back away from her, he realizes he’s crying. The voice that he hears next is barely audible, not even a whisper, but he looks up to see her smiling. In her native tongue, which he’s picked up out of necessity, she tells him to watch over their child. And then, with her face soft and her hand gripping his, she leaves this life, promising that she will see him and their daughter in the next.

They don’t try to move her. Not yet. He’s bent over her body with tears and blood staining his face as he curses her traditionalism, angry that she’d insisted their child be born by the sea. It was her right, she’d claimed, to be one with the ocean and let it course through her veins upon first waking. Bellamy had agreed but insisted they bring along a few medics from Camp Jaha, who were trained and well equipped to handle childbirth, but she’d refused. Birth was natural, bringing life into the world was organic and not to be tainted with the sky’s medicine. She knew the risks, she’d watched her own mother die in the birthing hut while delivering her sister. It was all a part of the never-ending circle, life and death and sea and salt, becoming one with the earth after fulfilling your duty of creating a new soul. He thought it was bullshit then, and he definitely doesn’t disagree with himself now.

It’s late into the night, just a few hours before sunrise, when they take her body. Just like with everything else they do, there’s a ritual for death. They will release her to the sea when the sun rises, a perimeter of flames encasing her. Her body will become ash, and it will dissipate into the ocean, where her soul will continue on. Again, he thinks it’s bullshit, but he nods and agrees when the Commander’s second explains it all to him. His eyes are bloodshot and all he can think about is his motherless child, crying wildly in the pale cedar bassinet across the hall, oblivious to the tragedy that has accompanied her birth. _She doesn’t even have a name_ , he thinks,  _but death already knows her face._  
  
He gets to hold her again after the funeral, where he holds the torch that lights her mother’s body aflame. Tears don’t dare fall again; he won’t allow them this time. Instead, he is steady as he watches the casket of branches and twigs take his wife further into the horizon, until she disappears with nothing but a cloud of smoke to remember she was ever there in the first place. The memory of her will be etched into his head forever, he knows. She will live on through the stories that he will tell their daughter, the Keeper of the Sea who was forced to marry her brunt of a father and then kissed with death before she could see her smile for the first time. Their daughter wouldn’t have memories of her own, but she would know her mother. Bellamy would make sure of it.

The tent they’ve arranged for him is large and well lit with lanterns, and he can see every freckle that marks his daughter’s face as he cradles her in his arms. The chair where they sit rocks easily back and forth as he weaves his fingers through her hair, staring at her and willing her to stay with him forever. She stares right back, and he swears that she’s taken every fleck of gold from her mother’s eyes. His heart aches for Dayana, whose name sits heavy on his lips as he whispers it to his baby girl. 

“You are just as much of her as you are of me, kiddo,” he whispers, and tears begin to threaten him again. He bites back the urge and kisses her tiny forehead, the skin smooth and delicate under his lips.

“Dayana Aurora Blake,” he decides wholeheartedly, and watches as she drifts to sleep in his arms.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there is one universal fact about the firstborn daughter of the Ark and the Ocean, it’s that she is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://octaviablake.co) :)

_**BELLAMY**_ \--

  
If there is one universal fact about the firstborn daughter of the Ark and the Ocean, it’s that she is loved. The days after her birth are filled with a conflicting sense of joy and sorrow, but beneath the surface, they rejoice. She will bring forth a generation of peace and prosperity, and there is not one soul of the sky or the sea that wouldn’t die to protect her.

Bellamy is comforted and congratulated regularly. The Sea Clan come to his hut to pay their respects to the Keeper by bringing vegetables or wheat, and to welcome her child to the world. They tell him he is a brother of the Sea now, that his child will unite their powerful tribes and forge a new path towards peace. It is all well and good, Bellamy thinks often, but he is still scared, down to his bones. 

The Sky People surround him like a herd of mother hens, offering help and food and advice. Dayana is greeted by bright smiles and hugs all around, but people still stare at him with pity. Octavia returns before Dayana’s third day, and promises that she will never leave him again. They bring him extra rations and blankets, and Jasper even concocts a mixture that resembles formula, claiming it carries the same vitamins and nutrients and has Abby’s seal of approval. Dayana takes quickly to Raven, cooing and quieting in her arms as they pass her around in the chow hall. It strikes Bellamy as odd because she’s the most visibly uncomfortable when she’s given a turn to hold her, and passes her off to Wick within seconds. He almost laughs.

 

\--

 

Weeks turn into months and she grows right before his eyes. Every day, something changes.

One night, about a month and half in, he trips on the wooden panel holding up his cot and jumps around in agony, groaning and refraining from shouting obscenities in front of his daughter. This gets her laughing, and when he hears the sound for the first time, the pain disappears and his movements still. The high-pitched, melodic giggle echoes through the cabin as tears shine over his eyes, and he thinks that he could live in that sound.

The two can often be found walking the campgrounds together, Dayana tight against Bellamy’s chest in a sling-like cloth that Octavia sewed out of deer hide. It wraps around his back, securing her tightly to him as they do daily checks together, stopping at each watch post to make sure the guards are hydrated, fed and alert.

This becomes their daily routine, intermixed with diaper changes and feedings. Around midday, when the guards go through shift change, he leaves Miller responsible and takes Dayana in for a nap. Bellamy’s learned quickly that he has to sleep when she sleeps, otherwise he’s miserable. She’s a finicky child, sleeping at odd hours with no interest in developing any sense of routine. When they nap, he holds her against his bare chest, his large hand wrapped around the width of her back.

When the afternoon nap is over, Bellamy begins his watch of cabin construction, which is nearly complete. They’ve worked long and tireless hours to build the makeshift cabins, and with the help of the Sea Clan, the construction has gone swiftly. They are not luxurious in the least, but they all have indoor plumbing, which is a testament to Raven’s brilliance. With the compliance of the Sea Clan, they developed a filtration system and now have running water. It is a beautiful thing that they’d sorely missed during that first year on the ground, when all they had to bathe and wash their garments in were muddy ponds and puddles, or radioactive snake infested rivers. Monty is behind the architecture of the cabins, and he’s crafted them to be small but efficient. There is room in each for one large cot or two small ones, a sink, and a toilet. 

The showers are communal, for conservation, but private. They shower in shifts, using the soap that Jasper created from lard and flowers. A large, unused room in the remnants of the Ark is turned into a sickbay, with stretchers and wooden shelves for tools and medicines. The chow hall is half inside the Ark and half out, with dozens of tables and chairs where there were once less than ten. The section that’s outside is covered by a tarp, and people sit and relax during their break times and rest days. It’s nothing fancy, none of it is, but it’s progress.  
  
It’s been months since anyone has uttered a word about Mount Weather or Clarke. Bellamy is comfortable with that silence; their priorities are not with the dead or the lost. He made up his mind shortly after she left that she would return when she wanted to, and not a moment sooner. The others, upon discovering her departure, wanted to go after her, to lead search parties into the woods daily until she was found. He refused. If she wanted to be gone, he would let her be gone. Quickly, his mind is cluttered with other things.

It's not that he’s forgotten about her, because he hasn’t. But in the first few days after she left, his thoughts were often with her. When he’d been elected as Head Guard and into the council within one day, he wished that she were there to reassure him. He always was great at making bad decisions, but he’d grown wiser in her presence. He missed the clarity she seemed to carry with her, the strength that she radiated and bestowed upon those around her. But now, with a child in his care, an army to maintain and a camp to look out for, Clarke is tucked away in a dark, back corner of his mind. Not gone, but dormant.

The loss of her hurt them wholly and desperately. Abby didn’t emerge from the darkness of her tent for days, and Raven was heard on multiple occasions throwing tools into the walls of the shop. Monty sulked and alienated himself for the better part of a week, but then started to come around with some coaxing from Bellamy. He took it in stride, knowing full well that crying or hollering was going to do nothing to bring her back. He was supposed to look out for them, and he wasn’t going to be able to do that if curled up into a ball and shut the world out. They needed to live--to _thrive--_ after everything they’d done to get themselves here.

 

\--

 

It’s nearly winter, and the leaves under his boots crunch loudly when he hears the whispers. He’s making his morning route with Dayana, holding her at his hip. She’s almost eight months old now, and her slinky curls have grown almost past her ears. The whispers turn to shouts and when he turns to see what the commotion is about, his eyes land immediately on a head of blonde hair, shining dully against the autumn sun. _It can’t be_ , he thinks. But it is.  
  
He's near the second guard post, about thirty meters away from the crowd that surrounds her. The distance is the only thing that makes it real; he can watch the others embrace her and welcome her. With each tear and smile, she is more permanent and less of a mirage created by his fantasies. Her mother gets to her quickly, nearly collapsing as she wraps her arms around Clarke. There’s an obvious shift in her demeanor that he wonders if they notice; she’s very still and muted, staring at them as if half in this world and half in her own. His grip tightens on Dayana, who stares with him at the crowd, and his heart starts to thud. She’s getting closer.  
  
Raven nearly tackles her and it’s the first time he sees her smile. It hits him like a hammer to the toe and he suddenly feels the need to hit something. _It’s not fair for her to do this, not if she’s not going to stay_ , he thinks. She can’t come and go as she pleases. Their hearts aren’t strong enough to go through it all again. Clarke’s presence, even now, when it’s half broken and visibly tarnished, sends out a wave of calm. The messiah returned.

When she finally breaks through the crowd and spots him, he swears his heart stops altogether. Dayana is starting to squirm in his arms, sensing his apprehension, but he calms her easily with the stroke of his thumb over her small leg. She approaches them slowly, as if Bellamy is cornered prey, and her eyes still their movements when they land on Dayana.  
  
For the first time in over a year, he hears her voice. It’s different, perhaps the thing that’s most different about her. It’s smaller and quieter, so much lighter than before that he barely registers it at first. But despite its strangeness, it’s still hers, and he would know it a mile away.  
  
“Who’s this?” she asks, eyes not leaving the baby in his arms.  
  
Bellamy looks from Dayana back to Clarke, his jaw setting as he narrows his eyes.  
  
“This is my daughter,” he replies, and the loss of breath in Clarke’s lungs is visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be _way_ more interaction in the next chapter. I just wanted to make sure that the current state of the camp was explained, as it's important for the rest of the story. Thanks for reading!


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning, it didn’t feel safe at all. There were more strangers than people Clarke knew, and everyone seemed to stare at her the same way. Whether the act was in her head or not, their eyes retold the story of the genocide she’d caused every time she looked into them. It made her stomach lurch and her mouth go dry, and leaving her tent at all was strenuous and uncomfortable. But time kept on, days and months passed and eventually people stopped caring when she entered rooms. The ones who knew her stopped asking where she’d been all those months, and everyone else minded their own business and didn’t stop to stare when she walked past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some interaction!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](octaviablake.co) and let me know what you think!

_**CLARKE**_ \---

 

In the beginning, it didn’t feel safe at all. There were more strangers than people Clarke knew, and everyone seemed to stare at her the same way. Whether the act was in her head or not, their eyes retold the story of the genocide she’d caused every time she looked into them. It made her stomach lurch and her mouth go dry, and leaving her tent at all was strenuous and uncomfortable. But time kept on, days and months passed and eventually people stopped caring when she entered rooms. The ones who knew her stopped asking where she’d been all those months, and everyone else minded their own business and didn’t stop to stare when she walked past. 

She acquires a job as a medical assistant about a month after being back, shadowing Abby and Jackson and performing menial tasks like stitching and bandaging minor wounds. Her hands still shake on occasion, despite her best efforts. Some days, she doesn't even come go to the sickbay, her hands shaking so violently after a nightmare that it's impossible to even dress herself. But for the most part, she's adapting. She eats with everyone in the chow hall; she drinks the occasional cup of moonshine when they celebrate birthdays or engagements. Her friends surround her with caution, no one quite as comfortable as they once were. Their teeth grit at certain things that are brought up in her presence, she can see it in their jaws. They're protecting her, shielding her and holding her upright, though perhaps they don't even realize it.  
  
When she’s comfortable enough to move from Abby’s cabin, they give her the empty one right next to Bellamy’s. It was reserved for Octavia and Lincoln, but they traveled most of the time and left it vacant. She hasn’t spoken to or even really seen Bellamy in the days that she’s been back before she moves into the cabin. She hears of things that he’s doing, and on occasion he comes into the chow hall to grab a couple dozen apples for the guards. They tell her he’s the busiest man in the camp, running the guard, the construction unit and raising a nearly one year-old daughter. They tell her that he’s not doing it on purpose, that if he had the time, he’d surely make an effort to check on her. She doesn’t believe them.

 

\----

 

They have staggered shifts in the sickbay, much like all the other sectors. After a few weeks, Clarke is trusted to run things on her own in the odd hours of the day and night, when things are usually pretty slow. She’s unpacking a box of antihistamine when someone opens the heavy metal door, making her nearly jump out of her boots. It’s been five hours since sundown and most of the camp’s residents stop work around the same time to eat and retire for the night. When she looks up to the door, her explanation stands before her, dripping blood onto the freshly mopped cement of the sickbay.

It’s Bellamy, and he’s got a painful looking gouge lining his left eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to be here alone,” is all he says, voice gruff and quiet.

His eyes betray the onslaught of panic that has set in upon seeing her alone in the sickbay. Surely he thought Abby or Jackson would be in charge of the night shift, and he’s shifting his weight on his heels uncomfortably as he stands before her.  
  
“Guess they trust me not to kill anyone.”

Bellamy almost smirks. Clarke almost lets herself smile at him.   
  
“So, who won the fight?” she asks, setting down the half-empty box of antihistamine and walking to the sink to scrub her hands. He clears his throat, moving slowly toward the stretcher closest to the sink.  
  
“One of the kids got a stuffed animal stuck on the wall. Some of the others were picking on her and threw it up there; it got caught on one of the barbs. I climbed up to get it. Barb, one. Bellamy, zero. But I got the damn thing,” he explains, breathing through his nose as she begins to clean the wound. 

“You’re quite the hero around here,” she mutters, mostly to herself, but his eyes move to hers.  
  
“Someone had to be.”

The words hit her like a freight train. They are so unexpected and unwelcome that she almost staggers back, almost tells him to get out, but he registers the hurt in her eyes and immediately clears his throat.  
  
“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he says now, and is staring at her dead-on as his words continue. “I didn’t mean that.”  
  
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” she’s tossing away the gauze and threading a needle as she asks him, her voice quiet and still shaken.  
  
“No--I--I didn't know what to say. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened to you. I didn’t—I didn’t know if you wanted to be around me anymore,” the hurt in his voice matches hers, and it dawns on her immediately that she’s more painful to him than the open wound.  
  
She’d left him. He’d healed. Now she was back, and he struggling to nurse the old, now reopened wounds. She wanted to run right then, to leave it all behind and let him get back to being great and functioning on a normal level without her.

He must’ve sensed it, because he stills her movements with a hand to her wrist. She hadn’t even realized it, but she was continuously failing to thread the needle. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were clouded over with tears and she keeps missing the hole, but Bellamy’s touch sets her still. When she looks over to him, it's obvious that he's reading her, sensing her fight or flight instincts kicking in. 

“I don’t know what happened to you out there, Clarke. And if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. But you’re not okay. You haven’t been since the day you got here.”  
  
It’s matter-of-fact; he doesn’t leave her room to argue with him. Instead, he takes the needle and thread and completes the task himself, handing it back to her once her hands steady. She begins to sew together his wound, and he keeps quiet.

He’s waiting for her. She’s nearly halfway done when she finally starts talking.  
  
“I was alone for most of it,” she breaks the silence. He looks up at her under his dark lashes but doesn’t say anything.  
  
“I built myself a shelter…it was pretty pathetic. But I liked the quiet. No one was around for a long time, a few passerbys here and there but no one dangerous,” she clips the last stitch and throws the sutures into a dish of disinfectant. She rubs ointment over the wound with a cu tip and takes a deep breath.  
  
“It wasn’t until the winter that I realized I wasn’t going to survive out there much longer. It was getting too cold; I didn’t have the right supplies. The animals started becoming scarcer so I was hungrier and hungrier. And then I—” Clarke’s never told anyone this before, and she’s thankful that she’s done with the sutures because her hands are starting to shake again.  
  
Bellamy still doesn’t urge her on, and she’s thankful.  
  
“I was attacked by an animal. I think it was a panther, like the kind we saw before. I barely survived.”  
  
His posture has changed and he’s looking over her instinctively, searching for any evidence of the attack. Clarke swallows hard and carefully lifts up her thermal, revealing four large, reddened scars that stretch from her back all the way across her stomach. Bellamy’s eyes widen and she notices his knuckles are white. When his eyes come back to hers, they’re darker than before.   
  
“How—” he manages, but his voice cracks. After he clears it, he says, “how did you survive?”

“Lexa.”

He quirks and eyebrow and his jaw sets at the sound of her name, and Clarke can’t blame him.

“I was on her land. I didn’t know it, but her guards must’ve heard me screaming,” she says, and Bellamy’s lips tighten. “They brought me to her and her healer saved my life.”  
  
“How long were you there?” he asks, but there’s no malice in his voice. She doesn’t know why she expects him to be angry, but he’s not.

“Almost a month. She granted me amnesty and told me I could stay if I wanted to. But I couldn’t.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It hurt too much,” her voice is quieter now.  
  
She bandages his wound and he runs his fingers over it, neither of them speaking for a moment.  
  
“Did you love her?” he finally asks.  
  
For a beat, she doesn’t respond. If she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t even really know the answer to the question.  
  
“I could’ve,” is all she says.  
  
They’re quiet for a while and then he stands, straightening his jacket and pants. He makes his way to leave, his eyes unsteadily shifting from hers to his boots.

He gestures to his wound and a small smile forms on his lips. “Thanks, doc.”  
  
Clarke gives him a curt nod, and he moves to exit the sickbay. He opens the door and before leaving, he turns his head in her direction but doesn’t look at her directly.  
  
“I’m glad you’re back,” he says quietly, and then leaves.

 

 


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About midway through the winter, they’re put on the same shower shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I've found my love for this again, thanks mainly to [Olivia](http://stevenburkhart.tumblr.com)! Big shout out also to [Courtney](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com) for reading through it. THANK YOU BOTH, YOU ANGELS.
> 
>  
> 
> as always, come find me on [tumblr](octaviablake.co)!

About midway through the winter, they’re put on the same shower shift. It’s the earliest one; Clarke figures Bellamy’s been on it for a while because of Dayana, and she requests it so she can be in the sickbay before the sun comes up. The first time she sees him there, it’s nearly too dark to see, the surrounding lanterns not bright enough to glow on the whole structure. It’s constructed so the walls reach shoulder length, so she when she sees his messy mop of hair over the top of one of the stalls that morning, she knows it’s him right away.

The water is warm enough to fight the cold, and the steam flows up from each stall as the morning shift showers in silence. Bellamy’s eyes stay closed the whole time, as far as she can tell, so he doesn’t see her across the walkway. When they’re done, Clarke grabs the grey robe that hangs on the outside of her stall and wraps it around herself. She steps into her boots with wet, bare feet, wincing at the unpleasantness of it. They’ve issued every one two cloth towels each, and she wraps her own around her soaking wet hair, which drips icy cold lines down her neck.

“What’re you doing here?” she hears from behind her. Her movements still, her spare towel lay dormant in her hand as she turns to face him.

“At the shower post? Is that a trick question?”

Bellamy doesn’t look very amused. When she meets his eyes, they’re hard, but she can tell he’s exhausted. She sees it all over his face. His own cloth towel is wrapped around his waist, but he’s got his robe on too, to keep off the chill. She sees that he’s wearing some kind of rubber shoes and not his boots, and she’s envious for a moment that he’s not miserable with sweaty feet like she is.

“I thought you were on the evening shift,” is all he replies.

Clarke stares at him for a moment, searching his face for an answer to why he’s being so strange. The last time they interacted, when he came into the sickbay with a two-inch deep cut on his brow, things had seemed okay. Maybe they wouldn’t ever go back to the way they were before, but she thought they were getting better. It was a misread, apparently, because he’s staring at her like she’s grown a third arm. She clears her throat, steadying herself.

“I asked to be moved so I could have the early shift at the clinic. It’s quiet and I like working in the daytime.”

He gives her a slow nod, but not much else, and she sees his jaw set.

“I can switch back—”

“No. No, of course not,” he shakes his head quickly, seemingly ridding himself of whatever thoughts were tumbling through his mind. “I just didn’t expect to see you.”

His eyes travel over her form—if he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s terribly wrong—and they seem to pause at her legs, which became significantly thinner in her time away. Raven calls them chicken legs, pressing Clarke to get back to a regular eating habit, but Clarke always finds some way to brush her off. Eating normally hasn’t been the easiest thing to get used to. 

He doesn’t say it, but she can see the concern twist up his features. He grips the towel around his waist and gives her a curt nod.

“Have a good day, Clarke.”

Before she can tell him the same, he’s walking away from her, a leather pack in one hand and his spare towel in the other. He doesn’t look back, even though she watches him until he’s out of sight.

It’s after noon in the sickbay and it’s been dead for nearly three hours, so she decides to take a stroll around camp to stretch her legs. When she gets back, there’s an aluminum plate with a few pieces of jerky sitting at her station. There’s no note, but she has a good feeling about where it came from.

 

\--

 

It’s late, very late judging by how high the moon is in the sky, when she hears a loud banging at her door. The cabins are small and the noise practically shakes the whole building, and Clarke is immediately awake and alert. It’s not the first time she’s been woken up in the middle of the night—they have very few medical staff—and she’s always been a light sleeper anyway.

Quickly, she throws a robe over her Ark issued white cotton t-shirt and underwear and practically runs to the door. “What is i—” she nearly gets out, but Bellamy cuts her off.

“She’s burning up. Really, really hot—don’t know,” his words jumble together in his panic, and Clarke can barely string them together to make coherent sentences. Dayana is crying, screaming really, as he holds her to his chest, and it’s a miracle she can hear him at all.

Clarke opens the door wider and motions for him to come inside, to get out of the cold air. Dayana is relentless; her tiny hands clinging to Bellamy’s grey t-shirt as she wails. His hair's a mess, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. When he finally manages to speak with some sense, Clarke can hear the cracks in his voice.

“She has a fever. I don’t—she’s never gotten sick before. I don’t know what to do,” it’s a plea, and she thinks that if he wasn’t cradling Daya in his arms, he’d have his head in his hands. She wants to comfort him, to let him know that this happens, that babies get fevers and he’s doing everything right, but she goes into full business mode immediately, turning to strip the blankets off of her bed.

“Okay. No problem. Babies get fevers. You’re supposed to help them sweat it out,” she says calmly, hoping to offset some of his panic. “Let’s wrap her in the sheepskin.”

Bellamy nods, handing her over to Clarke once she’s got the skin in her arms. She wraps Dayana up, firmly but not too tight, and holds her close. She’s still crying, but it’s less shrill.

He staggers back at her change in volume, and Clarke thinks that he might pass out from relief. She gives him a tiny, reassuring smile as he stares at the child in her arms.

“You did good, Bellamy. This isn’t unusual, especially in the winter,” she explains, but he cuts her off before she can get out another word.

“We’ve lost three already. To fever.” 

She understands much better now.

For a minute, they’re very quiet, save for Dayana’s weak cries. Clarke can see the glistening of sweat on her tiny forehead, and she thanks the stars above that the method seems to be working. This child won’t be leaving them any time soon, if she has anything to say about it.

“She’s going to be okay. You did the right thing, bringing her to me,” Clarke manages, trying not think about the children she could’ve helped.

Bellamy doesn’t respond. He stares intensely as Clarke rocks Dayana in her arms, like he can’t fathom taking his eyes off of her for one second. She feels his love for his daughter without any words being spoken, and her eyes start to tear up at the thought. 

If she knew anything for certain about Bellamy Blake, it was that he loved with his whole heart, all the time, and this little girl in her arms has the number one spot. She’s lucky, Clarke thought, the luckiest little girl alive.

Her fever breaks after about an hour. Bellamy doesn’t even try to hide the tear that slides down his cheek when Clarke tells him, and he nods fervently when she suggests that they take her to the hot spring to cool her off. It’s a five-minute walk from the camp and still a well-kept secret among the dropship crew. They found it long before the Ark came down, long before Mount Weather, and they had no intention of sharing it.

The temperature of the air surrounding them makes it really more of a warm spring rather than a hot one, but it does the trick nonetheless. Bellamy and Clarke approach the edge, and he’s lent her his rubber shower shoes while he walks in barefoot, his pants bunched up around his knees. Carefully, she hands him Dayana, who is quieter now and still kind of sticky.

Bellamy carefully washes the lukewarm water over her hair, his hand so gentle that Clarke doesn’t even think he’s really touching her. He washes the rest of her, and when he’s done, he pulls her up and places a kiss on her forehead, his eyes shut and his brow furrowed.

Clarke tries not to think about what would’ve happened if it had all gone south.

He mutters “thank you” and it snaps her out of her reverie, her eyes dragging back to his. 

She gives him a nod, unsure of how to communicate with him. Walking on eggshells was putting it lightly when it came to the usual atmosphere between them, and this was no different.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he says, eyes still on Dayana, who is now fast asleep in his arms.

“Bellamy—”

“You saved her. If you hadn’t been here—” he trails off, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Well I was here. I am here,” she states softly, the air between them shifting into something different, something she finally feels like she can manage. “I’m not going anywhere.”

At that, he looks up at her. His eyes, narrow and somehow still hardened despite the events of the day, say what his mouth will never—he’s questioning her sincerity.

“I promise,” she says, as she looks him dead in the eye. Her gaze almost dares him to call her bluff.

Instead, he does something she definitely doesn’t expect. He smiles, moving his gaze back down to his slumbering daughter.

“Better not,” she hears him whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think :)


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bell,” Clarke says softly, grasping his shoulder in her hand. When he doesn’t respond, she starts to shake him. “Bellamy, wake up.”
> 
> His eyes shoot open at that, and he’s immediately on the defense. His body is stiff as she keeps one hand on him. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, and he looks around the room as though he isn’t quite sure where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thank yous to [M](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com) and [Courtney](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com) for looking this over for me, you're both wonderful and beautiful creatures.
> 
> Hope you guys like this one.

The next day, Jackson comes down with a fever and asks Clarke to cover his night shift. She agrees, and vows that she will bite her tongue whilst in the presence of her mother. Abby stares at Clarke when she doesn’t think she’s looking, hovers around her like she’s ready to pounce at any given moment to stop Clarke from leaving again. It bothers her, and it makes working at the clinic that much harder, but she understands. To them, she’s become unpredictable.  
  


The shift is easy. Monroe comes in about halfway through with a dislocated shoulder, which Clarke pops back into place without much difficulty. They chat casually; Clarke learns that Monroe has become quite the marksman. Bellamy depends on her to teach the other guards to shoot, and she’s improved their aim as a whole significantly. The pride on her face is evident when she tells Clarke that they rarely return from a hunt empty-handed, and that’s thanks in large part to her. She’s proud to be a part of the guard; she’s proud to be someone that Bellamy turns to.

  
After she leaves, Clarke scrubs down her stretchers while Abby helps a little girl with a toothache. She’s crying as Abby examines her mouth, and Clarke’s thoughts turn to Dayana. She’s nearly eleven months now, and even in the short, three month span that Clarke has known her, she’s changed so much. Soon, she’ll be the size of the girl in the clinic, wiry with legs up to her chin. A small smile forms on her lips as she remembers Bellamy in the chow hall a few days before she’d gotten sick, smiling at her and encouraging her as she tried to stand up on wobbly legs. She’d tried and failed about a dozen times before starting to cry, only silenced when Bellamy scooped her into his arms and pressed a few kisses into her temple. The scene had made Clarke’s insides clench; he was so in love with the little girl that she nearly cried at the sight of them.  
  


The menial, laborious tasks involved with cleaning the sickbay are part of the reason why she loves it so much; she doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to worry that someone’s life is in her hands. She disinfects, scrubs, dries, and repeats. It’s mindless, and it’s the only time she doesn’t think about all the pain that surrounds her.

 

-

  
Abby and Clarke finish around midnight and close up, shutting off the lights and locking the door behind them. Clarke says a short goodbye to Abby, promising that she’s doing fine, urging her not to worry so much. As she’s walking back to her cabin, she realizes that she’s worked a double shift, and hasn’t had any time to check on Dayana. There’s no doubt that she’s fine, but Clarke wants to see for herself.

  
Bellamy’s cabin is only a few feet away from hers, and she beelines straight there from the sickbay, hoping that he’s still awake. He’s started to leave Miller in charge of the guard at night so he can try to get Dayana on a semi-regular sleep schedule, so when she approaches his front door, she tries to be as quiet as possible.  
 

She’s already raised her first to give a soft knock when she hears him scream.  
  


It’s a deep, guttural, bone-chilling kind of scream, and panic immediately sets in. Clarke forgets knocking all together and pushes herself into his cabin just in time to hear Dayana stir awake.  
  


The toddler starts crying—really crying—and Clarke searches for the source of Bellamy’s agony. She realizes after a few seconds that he’s in bed, his face is contorted in pain and he’s shaking violently. Instincts begin to kick in and Clarke goes for Dayana, picking her up and rubbing soft circles onto her back to calm her. Her eyes are stuck on Bellamy, who is panting and nearly convulsing, so she cradles the crying child as she approaches his bed. Dayana’s cries start to die down as Clarke soothes her, sitting down at the edge. By the time she reaches out to touch Bellamy, Dayana is looking at her curiously, her tired brown eyes barely open.  
 

“ _Bell_ ,” Clarke says softly, grasping his shoulder in her hand. When he doesn’t respond, she starts to shake him. “Bellamy, wake up.”  
  


His eyes shoot open at that, and he’s immediately on the defense. His body is stiff as she keeps one hand on him. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, and he looks around the room as though he isn’t quite sure where he is. Dayana’s head rests heavily on Clarke’s shoulder, and she’s rocking her very slowly in her lap. Soon, she can feel her heavy, steady breaths, and she leaves Bellamy to return her to her crib.

  
Clarke turns back to look at him, and she can see tears shining on his cheeks as he sits up. Her heart thuds rapidly against her chest, and she gives Dayana one more glance before moving back to the bed. She sits back down slowly, staying far enough away from him that they don’t touch. Her lips form a tight line, and she keeps her voice soft when she finally speaks.  
 

“I heard you scream,” she tells him.  
  


Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to his hands, which are still shaking in his lap. He looks up to the crib, worried eyes scanning his daughter.  
  


“She’s fine. She’s a heavy sleeper,” Clarke says, tucking a strand of messy blonde hair behind her ear. Bellamy nods.  
  


“Does this—“ Clarke thinks about her words, picks them carefully so that she doesn’t anger him, or cause him any more unnecessary pain. “Does this happen a lot?”  
  


He finally looks at her, and the look on his face nearly brings tears to her eyes. He nods, and she inhales a long, shaky breath.  
  


“How many hours are you averaging a night?” she asks, her tone clinical.  
  


It takes him a moment to respond, but when he does, his voice is almost broken. It’s rough and gravelly, and Clarke sets her jaw at the sound. “Two, maybe three hours.”  
  


She stares at him, searching his face for any answers. She doesn’t want to pry—he wouldn’t do it to her—but her worry is evident.  
  


“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asks, eyes not leaving his.  
  


Slowly, and solemnly, he shakes his head.  
  


Clarke understands, maybe better than anyone.

 

-

 

The next day, she leaves a sedative on his pillow during her lunch hour. It’s mild, and it won’t knock him out for more than six or seven hours, but it’s something.  
  


_Try this. It may help. –C_ , the note next to it says.  
  
 

The morning after, she doesn’t see him in the showers. When she arrives at the clinic after breakfast, there’s a metal container full of strawberries at her station sitting next to crumpled piece of paper.

__

_Thank you. –B_ , is all it says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcomed via comments or come find me on [tumblr](http://oktevia.tumblr.com)!


	6. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He seems happy though,” Clarke muses quietly.
> 
> At that, Octavia looks up at her, her full lips forming quickly into a thin line. “Do you know how long it took him to get there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say that I would not want to get on Octavia's bad side. She's so much fun to write. 
> 
> Thank you to [Courtney](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com) and [M](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com) for reading over this. Your feedback is so gold and I worship both of you.

Octavia and Lincoln return four days after the nightmare incident. The sun is high in the sky, and Clarke blinks a few times, shielding her eyes with her hand as they come into view. There is a hard line set on Octavia’s face when she sees Clarke standing in front of their cabin, but Lincoln gives her a small smile and a nod. The younger Blake was never afraid to voice her feelings, no matter how blunt they were, and she spares Clarke no mercy as she approaches the cabin, eyes clean of the warpaint she’d had when Clarke had last seen her.  
  


She’s wearing the same leather jacket and dark pants, and her boots are worn from walking. Clarke’s already formulating a plan to pack her stuff and move back into her mother’s cabin, or maybe even just hole up in the sickbay for a while. According to everyone else, the couple never stuck around for longer than a month; they liked to roam, scoping out the surrounding lands together.  
  


“Well, _look_ who decided to grace us with her presence,” Octavia bites out, eyebrow kinking upward as she comes closer.  
  
  
“Octavia,” Lincoln says cooly.  
  


“Don’t _Octavia_ me. She’s in our cabin. With our stuff,” she says to him, and then turns back to Clarke with a cold, intimidating expression on her face. “You think you can just leave and wreck everyone’s lives and then just show up whenever you feel like it?”

  
Clarke’s fists clench as she listens. Nothing that Octavia says isn’t true, so she doesn’t fight her. It would only make things worse if she did.  
  
  
“O,” a strong, dictating voice comes from Clarke’s left, and she turns to see Bellamy emerging from his cabin, Daya cradled in his left arm. “Give it a rest, will you?”

  
Octavia catches sight of Daya and her shoulders relax slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “Where are we supposed to sleep, Bellamy?” 

  
“Look, I don’t have much. I can go back to my mother’s--” Clarke starts, but Bellamy’s words come out on top of her own before she can finish her sentence.   
  
  
“No, Clarke. That’s not necessary,” he says, and when Octavia scoffs at him, he gives her a pointed look that Clarke thinks he’s probably been giving her since they were children. “There are a few spare cabins that don’t have all the bells and whistles installed yet. You’ll have to use the public hose for water, but there’s a bed and a lantern. Now lay off.”  
  
  
Clarke stares at him as he talks, as he defends her. Octavia rolls her eyes, and then goes straight for the squirmy little girl in Bellamy’s arms. It’s like she flips a switch, because she’s immediately all smiles and laughter as she holds her, bouncing her up in the air as Daya laughs excitedly.  
  
  
“You missed your Aunt and Uncle, didn’t you?” she asks her, so sweetly that Clarke’s heart begins to ache. Octavia will never forgive her, she thinks, and she’ll never have anything but malice in her voice when she speaks to her.  
  


Bellamy watches them, a large grin forming on his face. Clarke stands witness to all of it, though she thinks she’s intruding on a family affair she would never be invited to. Octavia seems to have forgotten that she’s even there, so she just leans against a post on the porch of the cabin and stares, hoping that she doesn’t come under fire again.  
  
  
“I’m going on a hunt with Reed and Monroe in a few hours. Can you watch her until the morning? We’ll be back late,” Bellamy asks, and Octavia gasps happily.  
  
  
“Can I watch my beautiful niece--that I haven’t seen in months--for a night? You’ll be lucky if I don’t keep her for the whole week,” Octavia replies, talking mostly to Daya, still using the baby voice.   
  
  
“Let’s not get crazy,” Bellamy says to her, ruffling her hair as he walks past.

-

It’s midday when Octavia comes into the sickbay. There's nothing visibly wrong with her, but the air in the room seems to shift as she approaches Clarke's station. Abby's been out for an hour gathering aloe from the far end of the forest, and Bellamy is long gone with Monroe and Reed. There's nothing standing between Octavia and finally laying into Clarke the way she knows she wants to.  
  


Except she doesn't--at first, anyway.  
  


Instead, she hops up onto the stretcher nearest to Clarke's station, where she's been taking inventory of their camomile supply.  
  


Clarke looks up at her, bracing for the worst. When the brunette finally speaks, it's much less biting than before.  
  


"Why did you come back?" she asks.  
  


Clarke sets her pencil down and takes a deep breath, blue eyes locking onto Octavia's.  
  


"I was--" she starts nervously. "I never planned on it. But I would've died out there if I hadn't."  
  


She expects for Octavia to say something to the effect of _I wish you would've_ , but she stays quiet and just nods slowly. For a long moment, they sit in silence, and Clarke tries to prepare herself for whatever is coming next.  
  


"What has he told you?" Octavia asks, looking away from her. Another quiet moment passes before Clarke answers.  
  


"Not much. At first he," she pauses. "He wasn't exactly happy to see me."  
  


Octavia scoffs, which is so obviously her saying _no shit_ without having to actually say it.  
  


“He seems happy though,” Clarke muses quietly.  
  


At that, Octavia looks up at her, her full lips forming quickly into a thin line. “Do you know how long it took him to get there?”  
  


Clarke returns her gaze, but doesn’t respond. She’s unknowingly put her foot in her mouth and she doesn’t know how to prepare for the drilling that’s to come.  
  
  
“You _ruined_ him, Clarke,” Octavia states, and her voice is full of venom. “He won’t ever tell you that. He’d never tell anyone. But we all knew. Miller used to catch him walking the perimeter outside of the fence in the middle of the night, searching for you. Didn’t stop all that nonsense for weeks, until I finally made him understand that _you made your choice_.”  
  
  
“Octavia--”  
  
  
“No. You did, and it wasn’t us. It wasn’t your home, or your family,” Octavia’s hard gaze weighs heavily on her shoulders. “You chose you, even when we needed you. When _he_ needed you.”  
  


Clarke’s heart is in her throat. She doesn’t know what to say, or what to do with her hands or her eyes. Crying isn’t an option--Octavia wouldn’t stand for it--so she just nods, breaking the eye contact. A long, awkward silence passes between them, along with more angry, unspoken words. Clarke can feel the spite radiating from the girl across the room, and it nearly makes her crumble.  
  
  
“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but--” Clarke begins, but she’s immediately interrupted.  
  
  
“No, you don’t. So save your breath,” she replies instantly, and hops off the stretcher, storming out of the sickbay.

-

The rest of the shift is quiet. Abby can tell something is wrong, but Clarke won’t tell her what it is, and eventually she stops asking. When the sun starts to sink, Jackson tells her to go get some rest, and she doesn’t argue with him.  
  
  
Her bed is like a sanctuary. She buries herself under the sheepskin, Octavia's words echoing loudly in her head as she falls into a fitful sleep.  
  


The moon’s low light shines through the cracks in the wood of her door when her eyes shoot open. She isn’t sure if she dreamt it, or if she heard the scream for herself, but she sits up anyway, her heart starting to pound in her chest.   
  
  
When she hears it again, she’s out of her bed and out the door before it ends.  
  


Time seems to still as she dashes the few short paces to Bellamy’s cabin, thankful that Daya is with Octavia and Lincoln in an unfinished hut halfway across the camp. Bellamy’s screams are more piercing this time, and Clarke winces at the sound as she pushes past his door.  
  


This time is definitely worse than last time. He’s drenched in sweat, his brow is deeply furrowed and she can see his chest rise and fall rapidly as he pants.  
  
  
“No. _No_. Stay away from her. Don’t--” and he screams again. She’s frozen for a moment as his agonized groans fill the room, but it’s just for a split second before she’s running to him.  
  
  
He’s thrashing as she tries to wake him, and she ends up gripping so tightly to his shoulders that she’s sure she’ll leave marks.  
  
  
“Please wake up, Bellamy,” her voice is desperate.  
  


Finally, after a good shove, he opens his eyes. He’s breathing erratically and she can feel his pounding heartbeat in her palms, but he’s awake, and she lets out the breath she’s been holding.  
  
  
“You’re okay,” she says softly, moving the pads of her fingers over the marks on his shoulders left by her nails.  
  
  
He moves to sit up, and she can see tears in the corners of his eyes. One of her hands stays on his shoulder as he swings his legs over the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he buries his face in his hands.  
  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” she hears him whisper.  
  
  
It’s quiet now, too quiet, but she doesn’t move her hand, even as his breathing slows. When he finally looks up, his eyes are red and his bottom lip is slightly quivering.  
  
  
“When Wells’ mom died,” Clarke says, somewhat out of nowhere, and clears her throat before continuing. “I used to hear him screaming in his sleep, too. It happened for about a year. He didn’t like to talk about it.”  
  


A look of slow understanding passes over Bellamy’s features and he takes another big gulp of air. He doesn’t look at her when he finally speaks.  
  


"It's always the mountain. Sometimes in the tunnels. Sometimes in the cages," he tells her in a low, broken voice, and Clarke's eyes slide close. "The ones with Daya are the worst."  
  


She squeezes his shoulder, which has imperceptibly started to shake again.  
  


"What happened in the mountain?" she asks.  
  


He turns his head slowly to look at her, and his face says more than his words ever could. She knows what they did to the Grounders inside the mountain, and the image of Bellamy in a cage--or worse, strung upside down and bleeding--makes her skin start to heat with anger.  
  


"It doesn't matter anymore, Clarke."  
  


"Bellamy--"  
  


"What do you think happened? The plan didn't work. They took me to harvest," he says darkly, looking away from her. "I was nearly dead when Maya found me."  
  


"You didn't say anythi--" the panic in her voice is obvious, but he doesn't let her finish.  
  


"You didn't need to know. Not then. We had a job to do."  
  


After a beat, she says, "They're gone. They won't ever hurt you, Daya, or anyone else, ever again."  
  


She doesn't realize it until it's already happening, but tears are sliding down her cheeks. The Mountain men are gone. They made sure of it.  
  


When he turns to look at her and sees them dripping from her jaw, he just nods.  
  


"I can get you another sedative in the morning," she suggests, but the look on his face tells her he's not interested.  
  


She starts to stand up, ready to leave him to get back to sleep, when his hand catches hers.  
  


"You don't have to leave--" he starts, but he stops himself, straightens his back and keeps his eyes on the floor. "They haven't been as bad...since you came back."  
  


Clarke lets out a breath. She doesn't let go of his hand as she settles back down onto the bed.  
  


"Okay," is all she says back, because she doesn't want to know how bad they were if _this_ is progress.  
  


She climbs into the empty side of his bed beside him as he situates himself, and their shoulders touch as they both lay, straight-legged and sort of stiff. Bellamy lets out a few long, deep breaths before she feels his body start to lose some of its tension. Hers does the same, and she feels his hand press against hers under the fur.  
  


Without words, she grasps it, holding it tightly in her own. Bellamy sighs, and after a few moments, he squeezes back, and then lets go.  
  


They fall asleep like that, and the nightmares don't come for him again that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! As always, find me on [tumblr](http://oktevia.tumblr.co). :)


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